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Subspace Emissary
Star
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2017
- Location
- New Yawk
"This is 10% luck,
20% skill,
15% concentrated power of will,
5% pleasure,
50% pain,
And 100% reason to remember the name."
The small stadium erupted as the referee's hand his the canvas for the third time and their hero sat up from leaning on the company's champion back-first with the leg hooked. The fair, young man's golden mane flipped from over his face as he majestically whipped his neck so that his fans could see the pearly white smile full of razor sharp teeth. The smash-mouth superstar roared with a bestial property as his teal eyes looked to be in an adrenaline rush. High cheek bones, a strong jawline, and an elegant sprinkle of scruff on his face gave him the look. There was a unique look to him as his ears were littered with silver rings and the left side of his heavily layered hair ended in hair tassels.
As he rose to his feet, his picture-perfect physique likewise came into view. Once he was standing, it was easy to see how he towered over the referee by about a foot with broad shoulders and wide lats that gave him a crisp, tailored V shape. With stacked traps, a barreled chest, washboard abs, and powerlifting legs... he was the total package. Tribal tattoos engulfed his right arm, right pectoral, and meaty left deltoid. A mistletoe was tattoo'd right on the inner side of his right hip and a silver stud went through his left nipple. White tape ran from his thick hands up right above his elbows and his biceps were tightly squeezed by long bands reminiscent of the late British Bulldog.
There he was.
Baldur the Indomitable
Shirtless with his lower body equipped in purple & red in a style identical to his inspiration, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage. Arms open and roaring into the stadium, eliciting an overenthusiastic chorus of cheers. The undefeated juggernaut slammed his hand over his chest hard enough for it to redden before pointing to his fallen adversary's title belt tucked away under the turnbuckle in the corner.
As the referee began to crudely explain that the match was a non-title match, the fans erupted in boos. The decisive defeat of the champion was a moment of clarity among the crowd who demanded a new age with a new champion. As this went on, the owner of the small-time company stood along the entrance way guarded by about 10 of the largest wrestlers in his company -- all of whom had already been beaten by Baldur in singles competition. Baldur's theme music, "Remember The Name" by Fort Minor, died down as he looked ready to tear through the wall of wrestlers that he had just beaten in a gauntlet match last week just to get this match in the first place.
"You will never be this company's champion," he yelled over the jeering fans at Baldur, who seethed with irritation.
Such was the daily struggle for the prodigious Baldur Valen Kierkegaard, one of the best wrestlers that the world has never heard of.
Originally from Norway, he grew up an orphan who initially got involved in the Oslo hardcore backyard wrestling scene. Baldur grew a reputation for being absolutely batshit crazy; the scarier an opponent seemed, the more he wanted to fight them. He lived for fighting, sex, working out, and overindulgence; he was as frivilous as he was reckless. And yet, he had a way of keeping every eye on him and forcing those around them to surrender the attention to him.
Eventually, he found his way to the United States while he was still a teenager and was able to make enough of a living to support a low-class lifestyle from wrestling. He began to travel a lot and before long, found himself wrestling the Japan circuit. Everyone had their eye on him and had him pegged to be the next great superstar of our time.
But that time never came.
Despite mowing down everyone who ever stood in his way, he never got anywhere. That was by design. At first, he was still a bit too wet behind the ears to be taken anywhere, but by the time that subsided, there was another reason to keep him from advancing the ranks. Money. To have someone like him on your roster was a money mill and small-time organizations would never want to get rid of a talent like that.
There's only so long that can go on for though before a wrestler goes their own way. And yet, Tetsuo Hanayama knew exactly how to keep his cash cow right where he wanted him. He'd pay the tab every time Baldur's recklessness got out of hand -- but Baldur would have to continue to perform for him and pay the money back with 20% interest.
This continued for some time, but the true hatred only began when Mr. Hanayama learned that Baldur had slept with both his wife and his daughter, several times each. From that moment on, Hanayama has looked to destroy Baldur. Whether with handicap matches, gauntlet matches, curtain calling, you name it.
And this is where he stayed, artificially kept from growing to his potential like he was a Bonsai Tree.
20% skill,
15% concentrated power of will,
5% pleasure,
50% pain,
And 100% reason to remember the name."
The small stadium erupted as the referee's hand his the canvas for the third time and their hero sat up from leaning on the company's champion back-first with the leg hooked. The fair, young man's golden mane flipped from over his face as he majestically whipped his neck so that his fans could see the pearly white smile full of razor sharp teeth. The smash-mouth superstar roared with a bestial property as his teal eyes looked to be in an adrenaline rush. High cheek bones, a strong jawline, and an elegant sprinkle of scruff on his face gave him the look. There was a unique look to him as his ears were littered with silver rings and the left side of his heavily layered hair ended in hair tassels.
As he rose to his feet, his picture-perfect physique likewise came into view. Once he was standing, it was easy to see how he towered over the referee by about a foot with broad shoulders and wide lats that gave him a crisp, tailored V shape. With stacked traps, a barreled chest, washboard abs, and powerlifting legs... he was the total package. Tribal tattoos engulfed his right arm, right pectoral, and meaty left deltoid. A mistletoe was tattoo'd right on the inner side of his right hip and a silver stud went through his left nipple. White tape ran from his thick hands up right above his elbows and his biceps were tightly squeezed by long bands reminiscent of the late British Bulldog.
There he was.
Baldur the Indomitable
Shirtless with his lower body equipped in purple & red in a style identical to his inspiration, Randy 'Macho Man' Savage. Arms open and roaring into the stadium, eliciting an overenthusiastic chorus of cheers. The undefeated juggernaut slammed his hand over his chest hard enough for it to redden before pointing to his fallen adversary's title belt tucked away under the turnbuckle in the corner.
As the referee began to crudely explain that the match was a non-title match, the fans erupted in boos. The decisive defeat of the champion was a moment of clarity among the crowd who demanded a new age with a new champion. As this went on, the owner of the small-time company stood along the entrance way guarded by about 10 of the largest wrestlers in his company -- all of whom had already been beaten by Baldur in singles competition. Baldur's theme music, "Remember The Name" by Fort Minor, died down as he looked ready to tear through the wall of wrestlers that he had just beaten in a gauntlet match last week just to get this match in the first place.
"You will never be this company's champion," he yelled over the jeering fans at Baldur, who seethed with irritation.
Such was the daily struggle for the prodigious Baldur Valen Kierkegaard, one of the best wrestlers that the world has never heard of.
Originally from Norway, he grew up an orphan who initially got involved in the Oslo hardcore backyard wrestling scene. Baldur grew a reputation for being absolutely batshit crazy; the scarier an opponent seemed, the more he wanted to fight them. He lived for fighting, sex, working out, and overindulgence; he was as frivilous as he was reckless. And yet, he had a way of keeping every eye on him and forcing those around them to surrender the attention to him.
Eventually, he found his way to the United States while he was still a teenager and was able to make enough of a living to support a low-class lifestyle from wrestling. He began to travel a lot and before long, found himself wrestling the Japan circuit. Everyone had their eye on him and had him pegged to be the next great superstar of our time.
But that time never came.
Despite mowing down everyone who ever stood in his way, he never got anywhere. That was by design. At first, he was still a bit too wet behind the ears to be taken anywhere, but by the time that subsided, there was another reason to keep him from advancing the ranks. Money. To have someone like him on your roster was a money mill and small-time organizations would never want to get rid of a talent like that.
There's only so long that can go on for though before a wrestler goes their own way. And yet, Tetsuo Hanayama knew exactly how to keep his cash cow right where he wanted him. He'd pay the tab every time Baldur's recklessness got out of hand -- but Baldur would have to continue to perform for him and pay the money back with 20% interest.
This continued for some time, but the true hatred only began when Mr. Hanayama learned that Baldur had slept with both his wife and his daughter, several times each. From that moment on, Hanayama has looked to destroy Baldur. Whether with handicap matches, gauntlet matches, curtain calling, you name it.
And this is where he stayed, artificially kept from growing to his potential like he was a Bonsai Tree.
